


[Anthology 1: Zombies] - ‘Til Death Do Ya Part

by futureboy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: 7 days to die, Alternate Universe, Call of Duty: Black Ops IIII, F/F, M/M, Multi, Plants vs. Zombies, Resident Evil - Freeform, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 00:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18063305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futureboy/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: A four-part collection of love stories with a bite.Jack/Geoff, Lindsay/Fiona, Michael/Gavin, Jeremy/Ryan. All zombie themed drabbles. Updates daily.





	1. Jack/Geoff - kindle the spark

**Author's Note:**

> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]

 

>   **Jackeoff** \- 7 Days to Die. More of a Southern Gothic style zombie AU...

 

 

Stone in the sea, shot in the dark, splittin' the air  
Listen to me, **kindle the spark** , answer my prayer

Is there anybody out there? One-two-three on the satellite radio?  
Does anybody care, are you listenin' to me? On the satellite radio

_Steve Earle - Satellite Radio_

 

* * *

  

_BANG._

 

“Geoff, please,” Jack laughs from the crafting room, “we’ve talked about this. No potshots after ten.”

“But they’re gettin’ close,” Geoff mutters into the windowsill, “I can see ‘em down there. And I _don’t_ like it.”

“Geoff...”

“Alright, fine,” he grumbles, heaving himself away from his perch. “I just don’t want them ruining my spikes, is all.”

“They won’t,” Jack calls back, “and if they do, we can make some more. We can head out tomorrow and grab more wood, if you want.”

Hm. Better than nothing. “I do want,” Geoff agrees, but he doesn’t add on the ‘ _not without you_ ’ that crosses his mind. “Those brain-hungry bastards aren’t chewing on _my_ pointy ground sticks, no siree.”

Jack cackles from the other room. It almost - so very nearly - drones out the rattling groan from the forest floor.

“Yeah, shut up!” Geoff yells. So he might get a little cocky when he’s in the house, but it’s on fucking stilts, for god’s sake. Those surface-level freaks would have to do some serious climbing to get in. Sue him.

“Stop aggravating them. They’re already attracted by the light, and I’m sure as hell not putting _those_ out.”

“I’m putting this one out,” Geoff says immediately, because his mama always told him that if he’s leaving a room, he had to leave it dark. “You furnacing?”

“Yep.”

With one last dirty look towards the horde outside, systematically impaling themselves in pursuit of flesh, Geoff extinguishes the torch in the lookout room and wanders through towards the craft room.

Illuminated in yellow is Jack, red hair glowing with the heat and glasses smudgy from the smoke. He’s made some kind of awful sweatband, tying a dirty rag around his forehead and keeping his hair from tickling his face, and Geoff immediately wants to burn it.

“I hate your headwear, Rambo.”

“Get fucked,” Jack grins, and unloads the furnace. “Wanna know how much iron we have?”

“Is it ‘so much’?” Geoff says, wrapping his arms around Jack’s shoulders from behind. He’s so _warm_. This is awesome.

“It is, in fact, ‘so much’. Right in one,” says Jack. “When the others come back from the food run, we can show them all the cool upgrades we did on the house.”

“Awesome,” says Geoff, who doesn’t want to think about ‘ _when’_ versus ‘ _if’_ for the return of the others. “Make any upgrades on the transmitter?”

“No, I need to see if the guys bring back any electrical parts before I can repair it more. And it uses so much power… I’m gonna need a better generator.”

“We can do that,” Geoff says. Jack stands upright at full height, so Geoff wraps his arms around the man’s middle instead. He sways them to and fro, gentle and warm in the light of the furnace, and Jack takes a second to smooth his hands over Geoff’s.

“Didn’t pick up anything today.”

“I know.”

“Maybe no-one else made it. Maybe we’re the last ones.”

“Don’t think like that, that’s my job. Hysteria doesn’t suit you.”

“Ha ha,” Jack says sarcastically, but he sounds a lot less despondent after that.

Eventually, Jack turns around - flames against one’s front for so long tends to make folk fidgety. Geoff takes the opportunity to embrace him properly. It takes a weary second, but eventually, the other man allows himself to tighten his arms in return.

“Think we’ll ever pick something up?”

“Jack--”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Geoff says, determined and unshakeable for once, “you gotta fix up that pieca-shit first, otherwise it’s not gonna do the things you want it to. And _then_ you can worry about figuring out how to set your voicemail up. Okay?”

Jack laughs and Geoff feels it all around him. “Okay, okay. I’ll do that. We’ll work out a way.”

“Could be worse. Could be a VCR you had to program.”

“Brains would start to look pretty appealing.”

They stay up talking by the fire, poking food in its pot and waiting for sunrise, until their group return from scavenging leading the sun by their torches. Tomorrow they’ll hang around and recover, and Geoff can plant the seeds they brought back for his makeshift new forest. He knows that he’s got Jack, and their survivors, and a chance at contacting even more people.

So when he’s holding Jack’s hot hand and arguing over VHS versus Betamax, he thinks: _yeah, it could be worse than this. Pretty good._

_Pretty good._


	2. Lindsay/Fiona - come clean

 

> **Lindsay and Fiona** \- Plants vs. Zombies.

 

Cause I'm a sad sad post teen  
Caught up in the love machine   
No dream, **come clean**   
Walking like a zombie, like a zombie

_Jamie T - Zombie_

 

* * *

 

 

Perfectly symmetrical. As all things should be.

Not.

“Lindsay! Why did you put that there?!”

“Because we needed it there.”

“But now the order’s messed up!” Fiona points out - is she close to tears? - and approaches the patch of grass. “Where am I gonna put this Puff Shroom now?”

“...One square up?”

“But I was gonna put a Scaredy Shroom there,” she protests. “Aw, man, this is gonna bother me _so_ much now.”

One of the reasons Lindsay loves living with Fiona is that she simply accepts setbacks without really fighting them. It’s pretty clear she’s put out about this, but it’s happened and she’s immediately ready to linger on how terrible the occurrence is without actually doing anything to reverse it.

“Well, listen,” Lindsay tries, “maybe this can be a good thing. Look at the Scaredy Shrooms, they’re even scared of _us_. We can’t realistically expect them to be our last line of defences.”

Fiona scowls. “Maybe they’re just scared of _you_. You’re chaotic, plants can sense that.”

“Oh, you speak Plant, now?” Lindsay teases, leaning into Fiona’s personal space. “You bring back all their Plant messages, do you? Behold! A missive from the Union of Peashooters, demanding a fairer wage--”

Fiona squeals with laughter and pushes her away. “Lindsay!” she grins, “stop it! I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, you just screwed up a stretch of grass I wanted to keep nice.”

“Did you _dig_ it?” asks Lindsay. She’s unrelenting. “Did you dig it like I dig you?”

“I’m gonna _dig_ you the perfect bed for a dirt nap unless you back off.”

“Eternal rest. Finally, my prayers have been answered. Now you know why I have such a huge vendetta against zombies - I can’t stand the thought of being awake forevermore.”

“You’re so weird,” Fiona smiles, and brushes her nose against Lindsay’s, before fully committing to a kiss. Lindsay can feel her grinning in it, which makes her grin, until they’re both a mess of slightly-smeared lipstick and accidentally touching teeth.

Lindsay’s never sure what to say after surprise kisses. Particularly in this case, because the whole thing’s quite new, and she wants to treat whatever they’ve got with the respect they deserve. It’s also her standard reaction, though, so all she does is keep smiling and smiling.

Man, she’s pretty happy, given the circumstances.

“Thanks for protecting me,” Fiona says, looking up through her eyelashes. Since the kiss began, she seems to have migrated into Lindsay’s lap.

“Anytime.”

“ _Not_ anytime. Please don’t fuck up the grass more.”

“Hey,” says Lindsay - she’s about to protest, but more pressing matters are at hand, because she suddenly hears a little contented gurgling noise and the shrill grating of a _chomp-chomp-chomp_.

“What the fuck happened to the Scaredy Shrooms?!” Fiona shrieks.

“We’re right by them - they fuckin’ _hid_ because we were making out by them, what the _shit_ ,” says Lindsay, standing up abruptly and taking Fiona with her.

Fiona shrieks even more from her new bridal-carry perch. “They’re fucking coming for us!” she yells, pointing--

“ _Fuck_!” shouts Lindsay. Fiona scrambles free, kicking her legs out in all directions.

“Plant more Shrooms, plant more Shrooms--”

“I’m _planting_ more goddamn Shrooms!! Didn’t realise I was allowed to now!”

“Braaainns,” says the zombie.

“Holy shit, this is the dumbest way to die _ever--_ ”

“We’re not gonna die! Fuck off!”

“ _Aaaaughhhhh!!_ ”


	3. Mavin - stand up, brush off, get moving

 

> **Mavin** \- Resident Evil [in the style of RE2].

 

 **Stand up, brush off, get moving**   
Get moving, get moving

What's that coming over the hill  
Is it a monster? Is it a monster?

_The Automatic - Monster_

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a baby under the sink.

“There’s a baby,” Michael says, dumbfounded, because he can’t think of anything else to say. “Under the sink. _There’s a baby under the fucking sink_.”

“Michael, please. Language.”

“We’re not live at the scene _now_ , moron, shut the fuck up.”

“Shh!” Gavin says. He goes to cover the baby’s little ears, but Michael stiffens behind him and he suddenly realises what he’s doing. “Oh, Christ,” he mutters, “you don’t think she’s gone gammy, do you?”

“Only one way to check,” Michael says grimly, and sticks both arms into the cupboard.

“Michael--”

The best part about the women’s restroom is hands-down _always_ the changing table. That thing is a fucking lifesaver in a pinch and Michael has an enormous amount of respect for it.

“Well,” he says, karate-kicking the plastic sheet down and placing the baby in the well, “no grey skin or weird eyes or bitey-ouchie teeth... I think the only thing ‘gammy’ about this kid is their ass.”

He undoes the swaddling and peels back the babygro. Gavin gags.

“Oh,” he wheezes, eyes watering, “that is an _overwhelming_ smell of poo. Michael, make it stop!”

“Oh, man up, it’s just shit,” Michael snaps, and waves vaguely at the sink again. “That’s a changing bag, pass it over here. I bet it’s this kid’s...”

The strap wiggles its way into his line of sight, and he grabs it, prying open the flaps to recover diapers and cleaning supplies.

“Does she have more clothes?”

“How do you know she’s a she?”

“Well, alright then,” Gavin pouts, “you let me know, Michaelboi, you’re the damn expert. Raccoon City’s finest--”

“I’m not an _expert_ , it’s just changing a fucking diaper. I’m not even a police officer.”

“But is she a girl or not?”

“...Yes.”

“Told you,” Gavin says.

“Can you shut up for five seconds and cover me?”

It takes a second, but the severity of the situation sinks in. Gavin starts to snort-laugh. “Cover you,” he mocks, and just like that, the tension lifts. “Of all the things I could be defending you for, it’s because you’re digging around in _shite_.”

“I’m not digging!” Michael protests, plucking another baby wipe from the packet. “You don’t _dig_ in doo-doo, that’s unsanitary. You just get rid of it.”

Gavin’s adamant. “Faecal digging, that’s what you’re doing. Elbow-deep in feek.”

“Shut up. I need another babygro.”

There’s a plasticky rustling as Gavin rummages, but eventually, a linen-fresh wad of material is flung over Michael’s shoulder - he ignores further rustling until the baby is reswaddled. The whole time they’ve been in the restroom, the kid’s been quiet as anything, save for her initial grizzling when becoming uncomfortable. One little mewling sound and they’d dug her out from behind the U-pipe. Christ.

“Michael.”

He leans over his shoulder. Gavin’s holding a note.

“Her name’s Lizzie. Elizabeth Driscoll. Look,” he says, smoothing the paper on the changing unit, “‘ _Elizabeth ‘Lizzie’ Driscoll, fourth of October twenty-nineteen…_ ’ What?”

“That’s _tenth of April_ , dummy,” Michael chides him, “what’s the rest say?”

Gavin swallows. “That her mum loved her.”

 _Jesus Christ_ , Michael thinks, _Jesus fucking Christ. This is real. Everything that’s happening, it’s all real, and I knew it but I didn’t_ realise _it until now._

“Amber Driscoll,” Gavin reads, as Michael hunches over the sink, hoping that washing his hands might distract him from the burning sadness in his eyes. “And she was married to Liam Driscoll. Bloody _hell_.”

“Fuck,” spits Michael quietly, then: “ _FUCK_. Fuck, there’s not even any hot water! For fuck’s sake. _Fuck!_ ”

“Michael,” says Gavin, in a wobbly-sounding sort of voice, and puts a hand on his arm. Holding him back. Making him think.

He glances at the baby.

“Come on,” Gavin urges, “you gotta be nice. For Lizzers. _Look_ at her, Michael.”

“You can’t call her ‘Lizzers’, for god’s sake, man.”

“Why not?”

“Sounds like ‘lizards’. Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

“Fine. I’ll think of something else. Loads of time for that, seeing as we’re gonna get out of here with her,” Gavin replies, “and we’re gonna find help, and other people, and we’re gonna survive. Y’know?”

“I know, but Gav… ”

“Stop worrying!” Gavin says. “You’re way better at this than I am.”

“This is gonna be like hard mode,” Michael reasons, “like if you had an unpredictable siren strapped to you _constantly_. Is that what we’re gonna do?”

“Are you gonna leave her, then?”

 _Ouch._ “Of course I’m not gonna do that!”

“Put a sock in it and help me wear the baby, then,” says Gavin fiercely, ripping a mass of straps out of the changing bag. “Doesn’t make sense for you to have one of the two liabilities strapped to you.”

“You’re not a liability.”

“I wouldn’t have made it off the stage and you know it,” Gavin retorts. “No point filming the bloody sewer fountain monster if you’re dead.”

The smell of the memory hits Michael before the images. He’s just a security guard, for crying out loud, and he _failed_. His charge was running for Governor and he straight up got _eaten_ , what the hell was he supposed to do with that? When you gotta bust out of a situation by shooting your right hand man, it’s never a good sign.

Past Michael’s decision was to evacuate bystanders. He doesn’t know how many got out. He doesn’t even know if there’s anything left at all, not past the walls of the women’s restroom in Clearwater Mall. Everything’s locked down. All he knows is that he saw one moron beating back a dead cannibal from eating the sound lady’s face, and decided that the dude’s camera rig wasn’t a very effective weapon.

“You saved me too,” Michael fires back.

“When?”

“The food court.”

“I slipped,” Gavin confessed.

“Glad you did,” says Michael.

“Stop trying to make it okay. You’re way more likely to make it out of here,” Gavin says, “so don’t come back for me if I cock it all up.”

“I’ll have to,” reasons Michael. “You volunteered for baby duty, someone’s gotta save her skin.”

Gavin cracks a smile at that.

“Besides,” he continues, “if the fountain spews out gunge again, then I need an eyewitness for my breaking-news interview.”

“I lost the film,” Gavin snorts.

Michael bobs his head to a terrible British accent: “ _then a huge monster came out of it like a mincer, reformed into a big ol’ bloody slug, and everyone started eating each other! Blimey, guvnah!_ ”

Gav kisses him.

Gav kisses him, and Michael kisses back, and they don’t stop until the baby starts doing some _stellar_ jazz improv from the changing table.

“Ba-ba-ba yourself,” mutters Gav, and Michael wants to kiss him all over again, goddamnit.

“Who’s gonna be Dad and who’s gonna be Pops?” he smirks. “I call dibs on Dad--”

“--Pops is a _granddad_ name, Michael, nooooo.”

Michael _does_ kiss him again, pulling him in by his crew belt and coveting the precious, precious seconds. He doesn’t know if it’ll be the last - all he can do is ensure it’s not the _only_ chance they get. Gavin laughs into his mouth.

“A baby,” he huffs, “a _baby_ , this is so _stupid_ , this is bloody _terrible_ , Michael--”

“I know,” is the muffled reply, equally amused, “Lizzie’s in for a fuckin’ _ride_ , dude.”

A clattering sound in the corridor makes them tense up. Both stare at the barricaded door, wondering if they’ll need it to hold or not.

Moment’s over.

“Right, then,” Gavin says, “time to baby up.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “I’ll do it.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Not even a little bit, no.”

“I’m gonna choke you to death with these carrier straps,” Gavin threatens, and Michael almost laughs, before deciding to hurry him up instead. “Come on, Baby Bel, time for the world’s scariest piggyback. No air raid impressions, now.”

“Don’t rename the kid _Baby Bel_.”

“She’s my little cheese, now, Michael,” Gavin says, cradling her against Michael’s chest in the pouch, “and that’s that on that. Now let’s get a bloody shift on.”

“Babybel. _God_.”

“Hang on, I need a wee before we go.”

“For god’s _sake_ , Gavin,” Michael says, and confiscates the man’s scavenged firearm - Gavin nips into a cubicle. “Take a dump _now_ so you don’t shit yourself later, how’s that?”

Gavin doesn’t reply.

“Can’t you believe this guy?” he asks Babybel. She curls a tiny hand around her own collar, as if to say _honestly, he’s a nightmare_ , and promptly falls asleep.

Under the sink... Fucking _Christ_.


	4. Jeremy/Ryan - we were born for greatness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a long day tomorrow so you get the final story early! Yaaaay.

 

> **Jeremwood** \- Call of Duty: Black Ops IIII Zombies.

 

Yeah, you can try and blame us  
And try to take what’s sacred   
But we’re not nameless, we’re not faceless   
**We were born for greatness**

_Papa Roach - Born For Greatness_

 

* * *

 

 

“Behind you, Ryan.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” says Ryan, making two headshots in a row. “Have you called down the God yet?”

“No, but when I do, will you help me kill it?”

“‘Course. Hey, watch your step on the stone, the blood’s making it a little slippy.”

This is how Ryan loves to work - side by side with Jeremy, picking off enemies and achieving objectives together. It’s effortless, punctuated by brief interludes of urgency, yet filled mostly with relaxing, idle chit-chat. He brushes desert grit from his Victorian firearm, and wonders how life got weird without him noticing.

“Which god is it?”

“Can’t remember,” Jeremy says absently, reloading, “I wanna Pack-a-Punch first though.”

There’s a lull in the wave. Ryan catches Jeremy’s eye and waggles his eyebrows: “Do you think Venus is looking down on us?” he asks.

“That would be less of a gladiator spectacle and more of...”

“A _show_. Ooh.”

Jeremy laughs into his own shoulder. Periodic recoil is really drawing Ryan’s attention to how toned the man’s arms are.

“Ryan, _stop_. I’m going to the Pack-a-Punch, oh my god.”

He turns back as he heads down the passage towards it, but Ryan’s not done yet. Not when Jeremy’s got that pretty flush on, and when he has comms units at his disposal.

“You don’t think Eros is overseeing, then?”

There’s a crackling burst of honest-to-God _giggling_. “Ryan! Please!”

“Oh, shit--”

There’s a sudden and _sharp_ weight on his back, and Ryan goes down hard. Blood-spattered sand erupts into the air as he falls. Stagnant breath is hot in his face, and claws like razors are dragging their way down his front:

“Fuck _off_ , Tiger!” Jeremy barks, standing in the temple doorway. He takes it out with a well-aimed headshot. It disintegrates into a mass of meaty chunks and watery blood.

That was close.

“Thanks,” Ryan wheezes.

“No problem.”

Jeremy gets down on one knee to revive him, so Ryan readies his pistol - luckily, most of the fast zombies have already been taken out, and the cover he ends up providing is minimal. “Came out of nowhere,” he grins, “Tiger bit me in the back, man.”

“We’re almost at the end anyways, I left a bunch of crawlers to ward off the next wave,” Jeremy explains. He waits for the circle to close the loop, waiting for the moment the revival’s complete; instead of pulling him to his feet and readying up, however, he keeps holding on to Ryan’s arms, and then around the back of Ryan’s neck.

Oh.

Jeremy presses a firm kiss to Ryan’s lips, slick and unexpectedly thrilling, and Ryan feels his knees go fucking weak, oh my _god_. It’s too short and just a _little_ bit not chaste enough.

“Ry?” he hears.

Ryan clears his throat.

“Amazing,” Jeremy chokes out, bursting into laughter at Ryan’s flushed embarrassment, “you actually didn’t expect me to take it that far.”

“The next wave’s starting,” he mumbles.

Jeremy’s shoulders shake harder, but in a way that says he wants to keep the reaction to himself. “Okay,” he says, “okay, _right_... Did-- Did you get your reward? From your fire pit?”

“It’s not a common term of endearment, but I can run with it,” Ryan bites out.

“ _Stop_ it. Ra’s waiting on us, man.”

“Okay,” says Ryan, and shoots out a crawler. He licks his lips, and still tastes Jeremy on them.

“Next wave.”

He side-eyes him. “Ready to get outta this nightmare world?”

Jeremy reloads his gun and pre-emptively hovers a hand over his explosives. One quick-as-a-flash grin leaves him stunned:

“Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never been more ready,” says Jeremy, and gleefully returns the the centre of the stadium, awaiting the chants of their audience. Ryan, as always, follows.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr - come say hi!  
> Kudoses, commentses, and subs are always welcomed. Thanks for reading ♥
> 
> And if anyone else has ideas on a theme like this.... Let me know ;)


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